


Sick

by lilidelafield



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilidelafield/pseuds/lilidelafield
Summary: Illya is left to deal with the consequences after a sadistic THRUSH torturer finds an alternative to inflicting pain.





	

"I can't believe you said that!"

"Said what? What did I say?"

"You said `what I wouldn't give for a quiet life!' Do you really mean that, Illya?"

Illya raised his head with difficulty. His neck hurt, his head was pounding, his throat was sore and burning and his stomach still roiling unpleasantly. He eyed his partner.

"Right now, Napoleon? Yes, I do mean it. I have been beaten and kicked, force-fed something that smelled like it spent three weeks fomenting on a sewage farm, without going into what it tasted like, and my throat hurts with all the vomiting, so yes, my friend. At this moment, a quiet life selling newspapers or growing flowers is very appealing to me."

"You've never said anything like that before."

Illya groaned again, as a hot wave rolled over him, followed closely by another severe wave of nausea. He hadn't the energy to get to his feet to stagger to the bathroom. He rolled over and leaned over the edge of the bed and vomited violently into the bowl he had put on the floor beside the bed in case of his need of it. Napoleon found himself watching in sympathy. THRUSH had been particularly sadistic this time. Having found that yet again their Russian prisoner had resisted their physical torture, they had decided on something more unpleasant; and had started force-feeding him with food that was spoiled, or bad. Illya was uncertain if any of it had been directly poisoned, but at this point it felt like it made very little difference. He could put up with pain, but vomiting he hated. He hated the feeling of nausea even more.

Napoleon had found his partner and gotten him out of there, and then blown the place sky-high. He had been very worried about Illya, and had tried to get him to the nearest hospital, but Illya was having none of it. Illya had protested that a bout of food-poisoning thanks to THRUSH was all that was wrong and that he would be fine in a day or two.

All the same, Napoleon had been concerned. Illya had been too sick even to sit in the car for more than five minutes to be driven anywhere, so in the end, Napoleon had pulled off the road and booked into a motel for a couple of nights. He had wrapped his partner up in blankets on one of the beds, with a large bowl beside him in case of his need of it, and a glass of water with a straw…and strict instructions to try and take a sip regularly.

With the bedroom lights dimmed and the door closed to, Napoleon had contacted Doctor Romeo at headquarters and asked him for his advice. Romeo had been conservatively positive, but he had, nonetheless, given Napoleon strict instructions about things to look out for. In the meantime, Mister Waverly had authorized them to stay there until Illya was well enough to travel.

Their room had two single beds, but all the same, Napoleon was too worried to sleep too soundly, and he awakened several times that night as his friend staggered to the bathroom, clutching his bowl wretchedly in his arms.

Knowing there was not a lot he could do, Napoleon remained alert until he heard Illya flush the toilet, and he met him at the bathroom door and took the bowl from his arms. Even in the dim light, Illya looked ghostly white.

"You get back to bed, and I'll rinse this out and bring it back to you. Try and take some more sips of water."

Illya nodded, relinquished the bowl thankfully and made his way to his bed and fell on it, asleep almost straight away. Napoleon emptied the bowl and rinsed it out, then returned it to the floor beside Illya's head. Illya was doing alright. He had a proper nasty dose of food poisoning, thanks to THRUSH, but he was still determinedly sipping his water, and managing, for the most part, to keep it down. Napoleon was aware that although he was not as well hydrated as usual, given the sickness and the diarrhoea, he was certainly not dehydrated.

By morning, Napoleon's eyes felt heavy, but he knew he would still not be able to sleep for worrying about his partner. He sat up on the edge of his bed and watched Illya sleeping.

Illya had spent the first half of the night virtually living in the bathroom, and Napoleon had been jerked awake three times by the sound of violent retching. As morning drew closer, however, things appeared to have settled down more, and both men had been able to snatch some quality sleep. He was determined not to awaken the sleeping Russian, however. Illya needed the rest. He couldn't have managed to get much sleep last night, so Napoleon topped up his partner's almost empty glass of water and sat silently by the window, waiting for him to stir.

Eventually, around ten o'clock, Napoleon turned hearing a sound. Illya had opened his eyes and was watching him.

"Hey, partner, how are you feeling this morning? Any improvement?"

Illya considered.

"A little better." He replied. "If you don't mind, I'll pass on the three-course breakfast though. What time is Waverly expecting us back?"

Napoleon smiled.

"As soon as you are able to take a seven-hour road trip."

"What? No helicopter rescue?"

"Not this time. According to Doctor Romeo, you are not about to die, so no air-lifting."

Illya nodded.

"In that case, I'll go back to sleep for a bit. You look like you could use some too."

Napoleon nodded.

"Probably true. I need a shower first. What about you? Do you need the bathroom?"

Illya shook his head.

"No, that appears to have eased off."

"Well, all the same I'll leave the door unlocked whilst I'm in there in case of…you know, an emergency. Only warn me before you flush though, or I'll get scalded."

Illya smirked.

"Thank you, my friend. Good night."

Twenty-four hours later, Illya was convalescing nicely. He had managed to eat a small bowl of chicken soup that his partner had scrounged from the motel restaurant, and was feeling a lot better. He and Napoleon were able to share the driving on their return trip, and were welcomed warmly by Mister Waverly when they reported to him for debriefing.

"How are you feeling now, Mister Kuryakin?" Waverly asked him, giving the Russian a hard stare. "You are looking very peaky."

"I am a lot better, sir. I am a little weak…I promised Napoleon I would report to medical before I leave today, sir."

Waverly nodded approvingly.

"See that you do Mister Kuryakin. It is regrettable that you were captured, but you completed your mission excellently. The valuable information you retrieved will be put to good use. In fact, once medical have finished with you, I want you to take another two days off to recover fully, because both you and Mister Solo are going to need to be at peak fitness for the next task I have lined up for you."

"Sir?" Solo asked, his interest peaked. Waverly smiled knowingly.

"I would get out your thermal underwear Mister Solo, because I want you both in Antarctica three days from now."

Solo's interested expression turned to dismay and he glanced across to his partner. Illya was grinning widely.

He was looking forward to this one.


End file.
